


The Stranger

by NumberA



Category: Claymore
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, The Asarakam, the ending is probably really frustrating i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberA/pseuds/NumberA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clare makes contact with one of the Asarakam who has come to the Claymore island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I make moderate reference in this fic to [Echoes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662473) by [SilverDagger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDagger/pseuds/SilverDagger). I don't _think_ you need to read it for this to make sense, but you should anyway because it's super good.

“Clare.” She wakes, certain she heard her name. Raki is slumbering by the embers of their fire, and she senses nothing unusual nearby. Dismissing it as a trick of the mind, she relaxes against her sword and closes her eyes. Unhelpfully, she remembers a folktale Jean knew about an owl-demon that calls names to lure its victims to their deaths. She doesn’t believe in ghost stories, but it takes her longer than usual to go back to sleep.

The next night, she’s wandering in her mind-forest when she glimpses a figure through the trees. She knows them, she can feel it in her blood, but even as she stumbles forward they recede. “Teresa!” she calls, though that isn’t right. “Not Teresa,” purrs an orange-scented voice. “She was a stranger to us, but this one smells familiar” She agrees, but neither of them can place it.

Two weeks later, she sees the stranger again, vanishing around a corner of the tunnels of Staff. She breaks into a run, trying to catch up, as smoke fills the air and the stone around her bursts into flame. Then she’s trapped, burning, as the men in black cut away at her in a perversion of a sacred rite. She wakes, screaming, and doesn’t go back to sleep. Many warriors dream about their operations, but not her. Rafaela and Luciela did, though. She’s wondering if she’s inherited their nightmares when she catches the stranger’s scent, drifting on a southern breeze. “Raki,” she says, “We’re going south.”

And south they go, from the spruce forests of Alphonse through the rolling hills of Toulouse. She stops dreaming of silent voices and half-glimpsed figures, but the scent never quite goes away. It reminds her of hot metal, underlaid with the musk of living flesh.The closest thing she can think of is yoma, but they smell more human. There’s an intention to it she can’t figure out, and every so often she gets the sense she’s being watched. Raki asks her if it’s wise to chase mysteries alone. She shrugs and keeps walking.

When they reach Adra, they find passage south along the river. It’s easier than she expected. A sweet-seller she knew from past visits has a son-in-law who captains a boat. He’s as scared of her as anybody, but takes them on anyway when he sees how much she can lift. Before they go, she leaves a letter explaining her quest with the sweet-seller along with instructions to give it to the next warrior he sees. “Tell them it’s for Miria, and that if I’m not back within three moons then I’m captured or dead.”

Their journey is short but pleasant. She impresses the river-folk with the trade-talk she knows through Rafaela and Luciela, and Raki’s easy smile and willingness to lose at dice make him as popular here as anywhere. Ten days into their voyage, the captain tells her that this is as far as he’ll take them. “Beyond here, it’s hovels and marshland. There’s nothing to trade for but papyrus. Come back with me! You and your man are good workers. I’ll pay each of you sixteen thousand beras a day if you join my crew.” Smiling she declines, and they set out to find a guide who will take them deeper into the delta. The scent is stronger here. She knows she’s getting close.

They set out the next morning in two shallow reed boats, one for the humans and one for her. It took them a while to find a guide, their money wasn’t worth much here and most folk wouldn’t have anything to do with a silver-eyed witch, but a farmer who needed a new drainage ditch convinced his brother to take them out. It’s the start of the dry season and the crocodiles are breeding. She’s always wanted to see one, and when they camp that night on a dense, reedy island she falls asleep to their deep, guttural calls.

That night, she meets the stranger in her mind-forest. She’s oddly unsurprised to see they wear Teresa’s face. “Who are you?” She asks, “Why have you called me here, and why have you taken that form?” They make an odd gesture, crossing their hands on their chest then extending them, palms upward.

“Clare-Asara, I salute you,” says Not-Teresa. Still holding her hands out, she looks towards the trees to the left. “And you, who are carried.” Lowering her arms, she turns back to her.

“I am Chanaardan Vaashtaarakam of the Asarakam. I called you here to meet with you, and I wore this face because it is written all over your heart. Mine own is fearsome to human eyes, and I wish for our first meeting to be a pleasant one.”

“The Asarakam…” she murmurs. “Miria spoke of you. You’re the dragonkin, from the mainland...” Not-Teresa nods.

“Yes, I was borne here by O’akugai traders who owed my people a debt. I swore them to secrecy, but it is the way of rumors to spread. I will not be the last, I think, to come to these shores, though I believe I am the first in many years. We had forgotten this land, until you brought forth one within you in a blaze so bright it could not be missed. Such things are not done lightly, Asara. I have come here to meet you, and your sisters, and to teach you what you can learn of our ways. We are kin, through the flesh you bear, and it is my duty to you.”

She hears the words, but there’s so much behind them that she hardly knows what to say.

“I called you?” she whispers, “ _How?_ ”

“By manifesting a soul you carry; we will speak of it when we meet. I have told you enough for now, Asara. This is an introduction, not a lesson. I’m camped on a sandbar at the sea’s-edge, half a day’s journey will bring us together. It will be good to look upon your face.” The Asarakam makes the offering gesture again, and retreats into the trees. She wakes almost immediately and tells Raki of her encounter. He’s at least as astonished as she is, and neither of them sleep that night.

They set out as soon as it is light enough for the humans to see. It’s slow going at first, but the marsh thins out as they near the ocean. It’s not long before she can smell the tide. As she does so, she senses something else: a presence akin to yoki, but steadier and brighter. Soon she can hear waves, and as they round a bend she sees the stranger, tall against the wide, grey sky.

The Asarakam is twice Raki’s height, human in shape but with armoured skin reminiscent of Awakened flesh. It has a stiff mane in place of hair, and a flat, skeletal face. It is fearsome - she can smell apprehension on Raki and fear on their guide - but there’s dignity in its bearing and awareness behind its three pupil-less eyes. She gestures for the humans to stop and paddles forward.

As she approaches, the Asarakam holds out its hands in the now-familiar gesture she’s guessing is a greeting. “Ccchhlaaaarrrrghh” it says, in a voice not meant for human speech. She bows, in the fashion of her people, and answers: “Yes, I am Clare. Once warrior number 47 of the Organisation, now my own woman. These men are Raki, my companion, and Adem, a man of the delta and our guide. We greet you, Chanaardan Vaashtaarakam, and bid you welcome to Tolaine.” It mimics her bow, and reaches out as she draws near to pull her boat up onto the shore.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Nanozom for the name Tolaine. If you confused about why I've switched from calling their country Frankhold to Tolaine 1. Thank you for paying that much attention, 2. It's because Frankhold is what the mainlanders call it. The people who live there call it something else.


End file.
